


i was born lost (and take no pleasure in being found)

by tolya



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8314132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolya/pseuds/tolya
Summary: Matt confronts Karen about her involvement with the Punisher. Unknowingly, he confronts her on the anniversary of her brother's death.Frank deals with the aftermath.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This is my first dip into the fandom, I must say, it's been quite some time since I've posted anything I've written. If my writing is a little rusty, I do apologize. I hope y'all enjoy none the less, and let me know what y'all think!

Glass.

Shattered everywhere, covering most the floor to the apartment. It cracks and rolls underneath his boots with each of his steps. There's a louder crunch as he walks over something. He stops to pick up the crushed object, a picture frame. He doesn’t even have to look at the photo to tell which one it is, it's always the one that gets knocked down. He puts it back up, knowing she'll still want it later.

Frank makes his way to the kitchen, the apartment is just slightly larger than her last, still small but enough to have three definite sections. All free of bullet holes scattered in the walls.

He stops when he finds her. He’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t to see her on the floor, her head downcast, face out of view by the blonde hair spilling past her shoulders. She doesn't acknowledge him right away, instead focusing on picking up the broken glass pieces, small and large by hand.

There's a list on the fridge of things she still needs for her new apartment, a broom and dustpan on it.

"Sorry for the mess." Karen starts, breaking the silence, "Old coping skills." her voice is deep and raw, a clear indication of just how well her evening has gone.

He notices her fingertips are bleeding from her task.

 _"Ma'am."_ He says softly. His tone coated with concern.

"He came here. First time I've seen him in months and he asked me about you." She continues, picking up a large chunk of what used to be a bowl and throws it into the waste basket next to her, "Asked me if I had a death wish. Him! Of all people."

His jaw tightens.

"Yeah. I heard."

She makes a noise of disbelief, shaking her head "He confronted you too?"

His split lip still stings, "Something like that."

"He treats me like I'm stupid, or a child or-or a piece of property. I can think for myself." She grabs a handful of the shattered chunks, throwing them away maybe a little too forcefully and nicks herself again. Stripes of scarlet go down her arm.

In one swift movement, Frank is kneeling in front of her. His hands coming to cover hers, halting them, "Hey."

She looks at him then, and it startles him. Her cheeks are blotchy and tear stained and her normally bright blues eyes are dark and dull, rimmed with red, with heavy dark circles underneath that make her look well beyond her age.

"Any other day I would've been _fine_ , Frank." She tells him, voice wobbling, and it almost sounds like a plea for him to believe her.  Fresh tears spring into her eyes, "Not today, not with everything I just-"

"I know." Because he does, he understands. Better than anyone. Frank has to clamp down on the feelings of indignation before it slips and warps into something else, something familiar; like rage.

Karen nods and sniffles, her hands going to wipe her face and something inside of him softens for her. He pulls her to him.

There's no resistance as she falls into him, her hands tacky against his jacket as she holds on. His chest tightens, he might not feel as much as he did, and he sure as hell doesn't feel sympathy for others, but in this instance she tugs at whatever heart strings he's got left. Cause if it's one thing the Punisher knows, it's loss.

It takes some time for her breathing to get to a normal pace, and when he's sure she's calm Frank lifts her up, moving towards the direction of the bedroom.

Her grip curls in protest, "Oh no, Frank, I have to-"

"It'll still be there tomorrow."  He tells her firmly. She resigns with a sigh.

He takes her to the bathroom first, sitting her down and pulling out the first aid kit from behind the mirror. He turns on the tap and runs it until it's warm before dampening one of her fancy washcloths he's sure to get scolded for later on for using. He bends to his knees in front of her, holding one of his hands out.

Karen hesitates, a look of confusion covers her features.

He clears his throat, "Your fingers."

She regards her palms up as she extends them towards him, seeming genuinely surprised at her small injuries, "Oh."

His gaze flickers up to her face, worry creasing his brows, "You know, normally you're the one patching me up." He attempts a conversation to distract her from the antiseptic he pours across a particularly bad gash just underneath her thumb, she winces but doesn't flinch, "Suppose I owed you one."

"Don't think this makes us even." She informs him.

His lips twitch upwards as he places gauze on the wound before wrapping it, "Should be good for the night."

Satisfied with his work, he stands to his full height, tugging her up with him. "Go get changed and get some rest, I'll put this away."

Karen nods, slipping past him into the bedroom. He waits for the soft click of the door before bracing himself against the sink, letting out a long sigh.

Guilt surrounds him. Revenge is what he was good at. Not damage control for something he played a hand in. Goddamn, Karen didn't deserve them, didn't deserve any of it. Though... without a doubt she'd somehow be in the middle of some sort of trouble, with or without him. Red's words from their encounter earlier still rings in his ears like church bells.

_You can't protect her, Frank. Not forever._

The reflection of the skull painted onto his vest in the mirror mocks him now. He wonders when it got to be this way.  If it had been him to seal her fate when he asked her to stay or if it had been when she actually did.

So engrossed and swarmed in his own thoughts, he nearly misses her calling out to him, leaning in the doorway.

He runs a hand through his hair, almost sheepish, "Sorry." He puts the first aid get back together quickly and tosses the washcloth into the trash before turning to her.

The oversized shirt she's wearing as pajamas catches him off guard, he's never seen her in anything more that blouses and skirts and a few pairs of jeans she invested in after one of their joint outings. The worn piece of clothing that splays out a college in Vermont, gives her a look of venerability. It's almost a relief to see her liked this, that there's not a wedge between them after tonight, no extra walls.

"Supposed to be getting some sleep, ma'am."

Karen nods, her eyes fixed onto the floor, "I can't." She confides in a small voice, "Not tonight. I've never been able to since..." She shrugs off the rest of the sentence.

It doesn't need to be finished because Frank knows.

Her eyes drift back up to his and he can see just how tired she is, "Would you maybe... I mean." She's silently asking for him and it almost surprises him. Then again, the number of sleepless nights outnumber the restful ones for him now.

"Yeah." He bends down to undo the laces on his boots.

He brows rise, clearly not expecting the answer, "Yeah?"

He nods, and hears her audible sigh of relief as he sheds his jacket and toes off the loose boots. He even unbuckles the kevlar. She opens the door for him then, and he follows her in.

It's not like he's never seen her bedroom, but never for long enough to notice any of the details, like the pale pink flowers stitched into her over stuffed comforter. It reminds Frank of a farm house on the countryside. It fits her, he thinks.

She slides into the side closest to the window, leaving him more than enough space. The springs squeak in protest as he puts weight onto them, moving until he's on his side facing her, his head propped up on one of his arms.

He studies her in the dark, watching her eyes search his face in return. He sees the dried tear tracks still on her face and it bothers him. You can slap a bandage on a stab wound, but there's no band-aid to help the damage upstairs.

"Sometimes, my girl, Lisa would have these real bad dreams when she was little." He says into the quiet between them, "Most parents you know, the kid normally ends up getting into bed with their parents, but... There were mornings I'd walk in to her bedroom and find Maria with her and she was... She was tall like you and there she is curled up in this toddler bed." He chuckles softly, "Then when my son was born, it'd be all three of them, completely out like that. Was always surprised how that bed didn't break."

He lives in the memory for a moment before his gaze falls back to Karen. His heart pumps a little faster when he sees she's smiling. It's genuine and contagious and he feels his lips curve upwards to match hers.

She pulls a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear before she speaks, "Kevin, um, this one time he-" She gives a whispery laugh, "He hid under my bed to show that there were no monsters under there."

It's only the second time Frank has ever heard her talk about her brother, the girl surprised him, being more of a steel trap then him at points.

"Yeah? He stay there the whole night?"

The smile bloomed into a small grin, "He sure did. And oh, he used to tell all of my friends that came to the house for sleepovers. Never let me forget it."

"Sounds like a good kid."

"He was."

Her response is distant, he notes her focus is on the sheets, her turn to be lost in memories. The happy look on her face let's him know he can let her stay gone in them. At least for a little bit longer.

It's not long before the clam of the room lulls his eyes into becoming heavy. They drift shut, but his consciousness stirs when he hears the covers rustle next to him.

Slowly, a warm hand slips into his. His breath hitches at the unexpected touch. There's a beat between them before he lets himself relax. Just this once, just this night, he let's himself be at ease with everything they have.

Almost inaudible, in the smallest of whispers, _"Thank you."_

His only response is his fingers, tightening around hers.


End file.
